


The Domestic Equation

by endlessghostfire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Parenthood, Parentlock, Post Season 4, Post-Season/Series 04, Serious Mary bashing you have been warned, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Being Idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessghostfire/pseuds/endlessghostfire
Summary: After the end of season 4, John is back at 221B Baker Street along with his daughter, Rosie, and easily fall into a content life alongside Sherlock. John is happy, but fear is stopping him from voicing the familial relationship he and Sherlock have found themselves in. What if he ruins everything?Basically a cute story about Sherlock and John being idiots and realising they were in a relationship the entire time.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

‘You know you were never actually married, right?’  
Sherlock’s voice spoke up behind John as he circled his chair. A cup of steaming tea was pushed into his hands as his roommate plonked himself down in his own chair opposite.  
John watched as his friend wrapped his long fingers around his own mug, bringing it to that ridiculous cupid’s bow and taking a sip.  
‘What?’ John managed incredulously, Sherlock’s initial words finally sinking home.  
Sherlock gave him the look he usually reserved for when people were being stupid. It was only with good grace that he didn’t roll his eyes.  
‘You and Mary. You weren’t actually married.’  
John frowned. ‘I’m pretty sure you were at the wedding, Sherlock. What are you on about?’  
A movement and Sherlock’s keen eyes whipped round to the sound, checking on Rosie as she slept soundly in her crib by the sofa.  
‘You’re on the bridge of a minor breakdown following your thoughts about Mary, I thought I should soften the blow slightly.’ Sherlock’s eyes never left Rosie’s crib as he spoke. John let himself admire the man in front of him briefly before the Detective’s eyes moved back to him.  
‘Sorry, Sherlock, you’re going to have to spell this one out for me.’ John admitted, taking a tentative sip of his tea. It wasn’t often that Sherlock would make him tea or coffee, and more often than not he had an ulterior motive.  
For once, Sherlock didn’t dive into a condescending rant when asked to elaborate. He simply set his mug down and leant forward on his knees, regarding the doctor with an intense stare.  
‘Because Mary stole another’s identity to become ‘Mary Morstan’, she married you under a fake name.’  
‘Okay?’  
‘By UK law, that makes the marriage invalid.’  
John sat back in his chair. The truth of the matter was, Sherlock had been right. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. Sherlock had been busy experimenting with something on the kitchen table, Rosie was asleep and John had all the time to fall into his memories.  
More often than not, when he was left alone to contemplate things, his mind usually landed on Mary.  
At first, when her death was still fresh and the wound was still wide open, he found himself wishing for her return, much like he did Sherlock’s. His memories were filled with good times and kept away the reality of their relationship, which was a strained one.  
John had once marvelled that Mary could put up with so much from him. Even before Sherlock’s return, he would have violent outbursts, where he would just snap and start shouting. Mary did nothing more than sit there with a calm expression and open arms when he had eventually calmed down.  
He had talked about Sherlock’s death with her, but not to a full extent. She knew the basic details, enough to make her understand why John was still mourning. John often felt like he should tell her more, but it seemed like she already knew, in a way, knew something deeper than a roommate relationship was between them.  
When Sherlock came back, Mary adapted better than he did, welcoming Sherlock into their life like he was always there to begin with. These were the memories that surfaced at the beginning.  
The more time went on, the more his memories began to show the reality of their relationship. John now understood why she had been so patient with him, always waiting for the right chance to use the information she had gained against him.  
Not that he knew, but he was fairly sure that Mary was only with him in the first place because he had been so close to Sherlock. Sherlock and Mary’s relationship in the months before her death were evident of that. She pushed John aside to gain Sherlock’s trust and pushed her way into their dynamic like a tumour latching onto a vital organ.  
John sometimes hated viewing Mary in that way. After all, she was the mother of his daughter, but his mind never listened.  
‘You’re spiralling again.’  
Sherlock’s baritone broke through the cloud of unwelcome thoughts and brought him back to the present. His friend was watching him carefully, a slight lift in his left eyebrow told John how worried he actually was, even though the rest of his face remained passive.  
‘Sorry. So, we were never officially married?’ John chewed on his lip as Sherlock shook his head. ‘Makes sense. Everything about her was fake, why would our marriage be any different?’  
Sherlock’s eyes flicked over to Rosie again. ‘At least you have one real thing that benefited from it.’  
John followed his gaze and softened. ‘Yeah,’ he looked back at Sherlock, ‘two real things.’  
Sherlock graced him with a warm smile that reached his eyes. ‘Two real things,’ he repeated, nodding in thought. John watched his fingers steeple at his chin and his eyes glaze over, signalling Sherlock had also begun to go through his thoughts.  
The fact that John could read Sherlock almost as easily as the detective could read everyone around him was kept close to John’s heart. No one knew the brilliant man in front of him more, no one knew when he was about to have an outburst, or drop from lack of eating (Now that John was living back at 221B the latter of the two was kept to a minimum). He knew when Sherlock needed to break his smoking habit, or when he was internally panicking because of an external factor. He knew when he needed to be left alone, or distracted. For John, Sherlock’s emotions were plain as day on his face, where to others, he would have the same expression.  
Knowing it was one of those times to leave Sherlock be for a moment, John heaved himself from his chair, internally cursing his new pain in his joints thanks to ageing, and went to check on Rosie.  
It was obvious looking at his daughter that Mary was lying about being a natural blonde, too. While John’s hair had been permanently bleached by Afghanistan’s sun, he had still been born blond. Mary had always put up the pretence of being a natural blonde. John didn’t know how she managed it, but she did.  
Looking down at the dark curls sprouting from Rosie’s head, however, he knew it to be true.  
John smiled to himself as he leaned down and gently brushed the cheek of his child. It was hard to ignore the similarities between Rosie and Sherlock. Those bright blue eyes, verging on grey as they caught the sunlight, and the brilliant dark head of hair the both of them sported made it increasingly difficult to deny they were a couple.  
Ever since John had moved back in, something unsaid had fallen into place between him and Sherlock. John had given updating long ago, since taking care of Rosie and, more often than not, Sherlock was a full-time job in itself. Sherlock kept the three of them afloat with money, something he insisted on doing so John could enjoy the first few years of his daughter's life without a job getting in the way. He showered Rosie with gifts, to the point where John put his foot down and told Sherlock ‘there is such a thing as too many dinosaur toys’, and never made a fuss when John presented him with a full meal.  
It was, for a lack of a better term, bliss. John thought of the three of them as a family, and he was pretty sure Sherlock thought the same. All they needed was each other, the only thing left to address was the nature of their relationship, but John was too scared to lose what they had.  
He heard movement behind him and looked to see Sherlock getting up and joining him at the crib side.  
‘Finished in your mind palace?’ John asked, not daring to raise his voice more to break the quiet peace the flat had fallen into.  
Sherlock hummed. ‘Had to engrave those words into the door to yours and Rosie’s side of the palace.’  
John smiled, turning away to try and hide it. He had noticed, throughout his time with Sherlock, his part in his mind palace growing. Sherlock didn’t mention it unless it was brought up and didn’t see anything wrong or worth mentioning, but to John it was a lot. He had started with a room, which had then upgraded to quarters, then an entire wing. Now, knowing that half of Sherlock’s mind was taken up with him and Rosie made a part of his heart flutter. Sherlock was a softie, regardless of how much he denied it.  
‘How’s your experiment?’  
He felt Sherlock shrug next to him. ‘Boring. There’s only so much you can find out about pigs ears.’  
‘Sherlock, you promised you wouldn’t bring body parts into the flat with Rosie here.’ John scolded.  
‘I promised not to bring human body parts into the flat.’ Sherlock corrected, and when John turned he saw a smirk playing on his lips.  
‘You bastard.’  
‘Loopholes, John, always think about the loopholes.’  
John rolled his eyes. ‘Just get rid of them if you’re not going to use them.’  
‘Yes, dear.’ Sherlock said sarcastically, moving towards the kitchen.  
Sherlock’s phone dinged on the table, and, without thinking, John moved to pick it up.  
‘Lestrade?’ Sherlock called from the kitchen?  
‘Yeah.’ John skimmed the text, then wrinkled his nose, ‘pretty disgusting murder, apparently. Greg said it could be linked to those kidnappings.’  
‘Ooh.’ Sherlock appeared behind his left shoulder, gloved hands stretched out of the way as he read the text. ‘Seems worth a look. Ask him to send me the address.’  
While Sherlock busied himself with discarding his experiment, now in record time, John texted Greg back and jogged down the stairs to knock on Mrs Hudson’s door.  
It became routine after a while, asking Mrs Hudson to take care of Rosie for a few hours, which she was more than willing to do, to help them both get to a crime scene. At first, John protested and left Sherlock to solve his cases by himself. But, when Sherlock ended up in Hospital after an altercation John could have easily stopped, the army doctor had made the decision to help out as much as possible.  
Once Mrs Hudson was happily settled in Sherlock’s armchair with a cup of tea, a pile of biscuits and the tv on a crappy soap, Sherlock appeared from his bedroom dressed. Even though it was the evening, it was still insanely hot, and the detective had ditched his usual suit jacket for his dark purple shirt, rolled up to his elbows.  
John, himself, was only sporting a long-sleeved t-shirt, one that Sherlock had given him for his birthday after he glanced at it in a shop window but decided it was too expensive.  
‘Don’t you boys look nice.’ Mrs Hudson said from her spot on the couch. ‘Now, if you want to go out and enjoy a nice meal before you get back, be my guest, there’s a rerun of Corrie on tonight.’  
‘Thank you, Mrs Hudson, we may do that. I bet John is dying to dine out.’ Sherlock contemplated his coat that was hanging by the door but decided against it, pocketing his wallet and phone before kissing Mrs Hudson on the check as a goodbye.  
John gave her a wave, checked once more on his sleeping daughter, and followed his friend from the flat.


	2. Chapter 2

The London heatwave, it seemed, was affecting everybody as they arrived at the crime scene. It was on the corner of Hyde Park, closed off from the public. Police officers and detectives alike were standing around in varying undress.   
Donovon was standing by the crime scene tape, fanning herself with her hand. She had mellowed a lot since Sherlock’s return, refraining from insulting digs most of the time. Of course, she liked to keep up the facade when Sherlock was around. John had an inkling they both enjoyed it too much to stop.   
‘Where’s your precious coat?’ She called over as they approached. ‘It’s missing out on the fun.’  
Sherlock smirked, bending down to duck under the tape as Donovon held it aloft for them. ‘I could say the same about your hair. Your forehead is missing it.’  
Donovon’s usual natural curls had been pulled back into a painful-looking ponytail, John guessed because of the heat. She scoffed, attempting to look angry at Sherlock but failing miserably. She led them to the murder scene where Lestrade was waiting for them. He gave John a hearty smile as he came to stand next to him, both turning to watch Sherlock begin his deductive dance around the body.   
‘Mrs Hudson got the kid?’   
‘Yeah. She suggested going out to dinner once we’re finished here.’   
Lestrade looked smug. ‘I bet you’re both dying for some alone time.’  
Greg quickly stepped aside as John went to elbow him. ‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘if you both get your arses in gear and admit you’re in a relationship by Sherlock’s birthday, I win £50.’   
John rolled his eyes. ‘Betting on us again, are you?’  
Greg shrugged. ‘Apart from solving grisly murders, there’s not much else to do around here.’  
‘I’m sure you’ll find something else to do.’ Both men jumped as Sherlock materialised next to them, pulling off his latex gloves.   
Greg cleared his throat. ‘Anything?’  
‘You were right to think this was linked to the recent kidnappings.’ Sherlock started, his eyes still darting over the body. ‘But I don’t think it is the same person.’  
‘So, a copycat?’  
‘Precisely. The hands were bound in the same way, but with a different type of rope. All of the other kidnapping and murders we’ve found have been with the same rope. Ligature marks around the neck are sloppy, unlike the others which are clean and confident. There’s also a distinct smell of cigarette smoke on the victim’s clothing, suggesting that the killer smokes, but the smell was not present at the other crime scenes.’  
John watched him talk with a smile. It was always fun to watch that brilliant mind at work, and, now that Sherlock had put effort into educating rather than condescension, the others were beginning to appreciate it more.   
‘How do you know that the victim didn’t smoke?’  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. Well, sometimes he tried.   
‘The level of smell shows that the person was a very heavy smoker. The victim did not have any signs of yellowing around his fingers, a trademark to someone who would smoke that much, neither any form of tobacco or cigarette lighter in his pocket. Also, more often than not, a heavy smoker’s clothing will have evidence of burn holes where they have dropped their cigarette, but the victim’s clothes are free from them. There’s also the case of this.’ Sherlock lifted an evidence bag in his hand. John peered closer to see a squashed cigarette butt. ‘I doubt you would stuff one in your own mouth when you were being murdered.’  
Greg snatched the bag excitedly. ‘This could have the killer's DNA on it. Fantastic.’  
‘This person is clearly unhinged. The practice was messy and unplanned, most likely getting the necessary information from what the Police had released. My best guess is we are looking for someone who idolises the original killer enough to try and earn their recognition and praise.’  
‘What do we do, then?’  
‘This person is hoping that this murder will earn him his 15 minutes of fame, enough so the original killer will notice him. I would suggest not to release this story until the case is solved. Don’t give him what he wants most, which is attention. Simply release to the press that the killer is still at large and to proceed about your daily life with caution.’  
‘Okay. Thanks, Sherlock.’ Greg walked to Donovon to order closer examination of the cigarettes found in the area, in case there were more with DNA on them. Sherlock watched them for a moment, before turning to John.   
‘More betting on the status of our relationship, I presume.’   
John looked at him through the corner of his eye. ‘What do you think?’  
Sherlock didn’t answer, instead, pulling out his phone. ‘You always look tense when Lestrade brings the subject up.’ He observed. ‘Am I to assume a romantic relationship with me would be that terrible?’  
John huffed. ‘Don’t be stupid, Sherlock.’ He said in defence. ‘Let’s go and get some food before Mrs Hudson calls us to say her Corrie binge has ended.’

They ended up in Angelo’s. The man had since upgraded and moved restaurants, and now had the option for outdoor seating with a gorgeous view of the Thames.   
John picked a table outside, determined to enjoy the heat while it lasted, and soon two glasses of John’s favourite wine were placed on the table by an enthusiastic waitress. Sherlock was silent for the cab ride and stared ahead as he picked up one of the glasses to take a distracted sip.  
‘Something’s worrying you about the case.’ John said. Sherlock glanced at him before nodding.   
‘It baffles me that people think their idols will praise them for becoming a carbon copy of them. Who would want to be mirrored like that?’ Sherlock huffed and glugged some wine. ‘For example, you admire me-’  
‘I do’ John immediately answered.   
‘-but you are not making an effort to be more like me to gain admiration in return.’   
‘That’s completely different, Sherlock.’  
‘How so?’  
John rolled his eyes, not quite believing he had to explain. ‘Well, for starters, you aren’t a crazy serial kidnapper and murderer.’  
Sherlock smirked.   
‘And two, the dynamic between a crazy fan who idolises someone is entirely different from a friendship. I want to spend time with you, not be you.’  
His friend hummed, chewing on his lip before turning back to the Thames. ‘In these cases, the copycat is often the most violent. We have to be careful.’  
‘Roger.’ John nodded, noticing Angelo as he made his way towards their table.   
‘Evening, boys. Out for a nice dinner without the baby? What can I get for you two?’  
John smiled up at him. ‘Yeah, just been to a crime scene, though, so I doubt I can get Sherlock to order anything.’  
‘I’ll eat.’ Sherlock said, still distracted by his own thoughts.   
Surprised, but choosing not to question it, John ordered a pasta dish each and laughed as Angelo winked and put the rest of the bottle of wine on their table.  
‘Sherlock.’ John spoke up after a minute or two. His friend was beginning to worry him slightly. ‘What’s going on?’  
‘Hm?’ Sherlock finally turned towards the table, giving John his full attention. Grey eyes bored into his own, but John refused to break eye contact. ‘Why am I being stupid to think that you abhor the idea of a relationship with me?’  
The question stunned John before he quickly chose his words. It was obvious that this was the thing on Sherlock’s mind, instead of the case. ‘For many reasons. You think so little of yourself that you don’t realise how much of a caring person you are, someone who would thrive in a romantic relationship like that. You’re also being stupid because, for god's sake, we live together, you’re helping me raise my daughter, we spend every conceivable moment together, you really think that advancing upon that would make me uncomfortable?’   
The man across from him kept his expression the same, but he began blinking faster, an indicator that Sherlock was internally panicking. ‘So, do you?’  
‘Do I, what?’  
Sherlock’s eyes rolled upwards. ‘Do you want to advance our relationship to include a romantic element?’  
John almost spit out the wine he had sipped. ‘Is that your insane way of asking me to be your boyfriend?’ He asked, a smile playing on his lips.  
A twinge of pink appeared on Sherlock’s cheeks and he looked away, picking up his glass and swirling the wine in it. ‘Maybe.’   
John took a deep breath. Wasn’t this what he was secretly hoping for? A name to whatever had been going on between them since he moved back in? He sat back in his chair, making himself imagine what it would be like to call Sherlock his boyfriend.   
In all honesty, John didn’t have to think too much about it. He didn’t think Sherlock was the type to change his ways once he was in a relationship. Their day to day life would remain virtually the same, apart from an added intimacy element. After months of being touch starved, John’s heart picked up its pace at the thought. What if it ended badly? Well, they’d already been through so much, was it worth the risk? What if Sherlock didn’t want to add anything sexual to their relationship?  
He looked at the man, who was busying himself with the wine in his glass instead of looking at John and smiled. He would be able to handle that, he was old enough and ugly enough to deal with a relationship like that. If giving up something like that was the cost of finally giving this thing with Sherlock a name, he would do it. He would take the risk of it going south to see if this was where they were meant to be the whole time.  
An image flashed in his mind of the two of them raising Rosie together, much the same way they were doing currently, but with John’s arm wrapped around Sherlock’s waist as he held their daughter in his arms. John heard himself answer without thinking.  
‘Okay.’  
Sherlock’s eyes snapped back to John. ‘What?’  
John laughed. ‘I said ‘okay’.’  
‘Okay…’ Sherlock’s mouth opened and closed a few times, reminding John of a goldfish. ‘Are you sure?’  
This made John laugh harder. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’  
‘You want to have sex with me?’  
Well, that answered one question. ‘Among other things.’  
Their pasta dishes were set down quickly, and the waiter didn’t stick around long either. John hummed, his stomach growling at the smell and picked up his fork.   
‘John.’  
‘What?’ John picked a large forkful of food and enthusiastically shoved it into his mouth, savouring the taste. Sherlock had yet to acknowledge his food.   
‘Are you sure?’  
John looked up to answer, but his voice caught in his throat. Something akin to vulnerability shone in Sherlock’s eyes, and it took a moment for John to realise this was probably a huge step to the detective. He took a leap of faith and reached across the table to cover Sherlock’s hand with his. Sherlock looked down at their hands, before turning his so his palm was facing John’s.   
‘I’m sure, only if you’re sure.’  
‘I’m sure.’ Sherlock said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life.’  
John smiled, his heart clenching. ‘Good, now eat your pasta.’  
Taking his hand back to begin eating again, he was amused to see the look of shock Sherlock gave him. Decidedly ignoring it, John began to eat in earnest as his hunger grew. After a few seconds, Sherlock began to eat again.   
They finished their meal in silence. London’s nightlife surrounded them in a peaceful lull of noise. Sherlock, to John’s surprise, dug into his meal like he was a starving man and finished before John did, gracefully wiping his mouth with his napkin. One look at his, should he say boyfriend? John shook himself. One look at his partner told John everything he needed to know.   
‘You can smoke, Sherlock.’  
No sooner did he say that the detective pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his trouser pocket and lit one, taking a deep breath before blowing it into the sky. John watched his Adam's apple bob.  
While Sherlock busied himself with savouring his cigarette and the rest of his wine, John finished his meal, thanking Angelo as he took the two empty plates away and returned with another bottle of wine and an ashtray.   
‘So.’ John said, opening the other bottle of wine and breaking the silence. ‘Are we considering this our first date? Crime scene and a lovely dinner?’   
Sherlock’s lips curled around his cigarette. ‘If you want to. I would have thought you’d want more of a romantic setting than looking at a dead body.’   
John shrugged. ‘If we are to ‘advance our relationship’ as you like to put it, I’m not expecting much to change, you know. You’re still you. I’m not expecting you to magically turn into Romeo.’ He regarded his surroundings; the lights from the city illuminating the water in front of them, a warm night, the two of them sitting in the glow of the candles on the table. ‘Besides, this is pretty damn romantic, when you look at it.’  
Sherlock took stock of their position. ‘So it is.’   
They lulled back into a comfortable silence as John watched the small breeze ripple the surface of the river. It struck him that nothing felt out of the ordinary. Normally, when you confess your feelings, or want a relationship with someone, you would get a buzz of happy feelings, excited for the days ahead. John didn’t feel that way, however. No, he felt at perfect peace, possibly for the first time since he joined the army.   
It felt as if things had fallen into their right places, like this was where they were meant to be all along.   
It wasn’t a feeling of anticipation for the years ahead, it was a feeling of home.


	3. Chapter 3

During the next couple of weeks, John began to notice something different about Sherlock. He had taken to solely wearing tight, satin-Esque shirts due to the heatwave, and it was only after Lestrade mentioned it one day that John got his answer as to why.   
‘John said I looked good in them a few years ago.’  
The answer shocked both him and Greg when it was announced, and the brilliant bastard continued his work on the crime scene like it was nothing.   
They hadn’t officially announced anything to their friends yet, because, in all honesty, there wasn’t much to announce. Sherlock had been busy with the kidnapping/killings case enough that his focus wasn’t on his and John’s relationship.   
And, to John, that was exactly what he wanted. He knew what kind of a man Sherlock was when he was trying too hard to please the people around him. The way his partner reacted before John’s wedding came to mind as an example. It was good that he wasn’t thinking too much of it, as it meant John could do most of the observation.   
It started off as small things.  
After their first ‘date’, Sherlock and John decided to walk back to Baker Street. The night was calm, and Sherlock chatted about his predictions for the case while a-lot-more-than-tipsy John stole the packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. When he went to put them back, he found Sherlock’s hand there, waiting. Wordlessly, they slipped their hands together, entwining their fingers as they walked home.   
John had kept a smile on his face until Baker Street came into view. Then began to wonder if they had made a mistake. It was all well and good to confess feelings or whatever in a romantic setting like the one they were in, but what would actually happen when they returned to reality. They still had a baby to look after, and crimes to solve. Would they really be able to do it?  
And then Sherlock leaned down and planted a kiss on John’s temple as he was fishing for his keys, and John knew they were going to be okay.   
During the first week, John made it abundantly clear that Sherlock would be the one to advance their relationship via the subject of physical intimacy. While Sherlock admitted he had previous sexual experience, it was never in the context of a relationship, and John didn’t want to push too hard, no matter how much his I’m-over-40-why-do-is-my-teenage-libido-back mind was calling to him.   
Sherlock started off slow, occasionally brushing his hands through John’s hair when he was sitting at the kitchen table, or tentatively giving John’s temple a kiss when he dropped off his tea. John loved every minute detail of it, making an effort to store the little moments away so he would never forget them. While Sherlock’s mind was a palace, John’s was more of a run-down shack. He tried his hardest to file things away as his partner did, but more often than not he would forget them the moment a distraction appeared. It frustrated him, but Sherlock never seemed to mind.   
Apart from the increase in touching and light kisses, nothing else really changed in the first week. Sherlock continued to work on his case and look after Rosie when John was too tired. He would make John a cup of tea every morning, and have it waiting for him when he came downstairs, often already having fed Rosie and had lulled her back to sleep with the use of his violin.   
Rosie was such a fantastic child. Much like all 4-month-olds, she would sometimes have hissy fits, screaming blue murder, but usually, she was quiet and happy. Her eyes were as sharp as Sherlock’s when she watched you, as she usually did from her crib. She had no interest in any toy apart from the one Sherlock gave her; a fluffy elephant with a blanket attached to his head for its body. John knew she only liked it because it smelled like him, as he often caught Sherlock carrying the thing around.

The second week, however, brought some excitement. Sherlock had managed to track down the copycat killer, who had killed again once he realised the Police were covering up his first murder and had run off before John had a chance to follow him.  
Because John was so well versed in Sherlock’s ways, he had long ago activated the ‘find my friends’ app on his phone without him knowing, and caught up with the detective just in time to help him bring the copycat down. Sherlock’s face, when he saw John rush onto the scene, told the doctor everything he needed to know. He knew Sherlock was feeling guilty for rushing off and leaving John like he always did, and mentioned it that night when they were on their way home in the cab.  
‘You’re my partner now, I need to be more considerate.’ Sherlock’s head hung low, his hands in his lap.   
John reached over and took one of Sherlock’s hands, giving it a squeeze. The detective looked up and John seized an opportunity and leaned forward, pressing his lips firmly against his. Sherlock’s breath hitched and he pressed forward, sliding a hand up onto John’s jaw.   
When he pulled away, Sherlock looked confused.   
‘I told you, I’m not expecting you to change. If that means you sometimes forget about me to rush off when your mind is solely on the case, then so be it. You’ve been doing it since the day I met you.’   
Sherlock watched him for a long while, a soft smile on his lips. ‘You’re amazing, my John Watson.’   
‘I’m sorry, what was that?’ John teased.  
‘You heard, I’m not saying it again.’ Sherlock moved away, crossing his arms.  
John chuckled and leaned into Sherlock’s space. ‘No, sorry, I really didn’t hear that, what did the brilliant Sherlock Holmes just call me?’  
Sherlock looked over at him. ‘Mine.’

After the first kiss, it seemed Sherlock had made kissing John part of his daily routine. If he got stuck while working on the case, he would march over to where John was sitting and plant a firm kiss on his lips, going immediately back to thinking.   
John loved it, apart from the time he had been woken up at 3 am by an enthusiastic Sherlock kissing him, only for the tall bastard to run back downstairs again.   
A few days passed and John’s curiosity had run its course. When Sherlock was sitting on the sofa attempting to coax Rosie into taking her bottle, John saw the perfect opportunity. He stopped directly in front of his partner, making him crane his neck upwards (for once) to look him in the eyes.   
‘Why do you kiss me when you’re stuck on a case?’ He asked, half accusingly, half simple curiosity.   
Sherlock stared at John for a few moments as if he should already know the answer. ‘Kissing you restarts my brain.’ He said simply.   
Oh. Well, then. John nodded and turned to get them both tea, hiding the biggest smile on his face. That was the closest Sherlock had come to the ‘l’ word, with anyone. Everyone knew he prided himself on his brain more than anything else and knowing the simple act of kissing John would give Sherlock that electric shock needed to think clearer again, John would wear that badge with pride. 

This continued for a while, the two of them going about their daily lives like they normally would, with the added extra that they were both insanely happy. They didn’t think anything of it, until they were standing around the caution tape which signalled the end of the kidnapping case.  
Sherlock had worked tirelessly to track down the habits of the original killer and managed to do so with the help of Lestrade (and Mycroft, but Sherlock would never admit to it), leading to a satisfying end to a long case.   
Molly was looking after Rosie, knowing just how important the case was, for the night, leaving John and Sherlock free to be coerced into celebrating with Lestrade and the others.   
‘Come on, you have to! You’ve got the entire night to yourselves!’ Lestrade was pulling all the stocks, for some reason determined to get the two to join them.   
After a quick glance at each other, John reluctantly nodded. It wasn’t that he didn’t like drinking with Greg. Before Rosie was born, he quite regularly joined him in their local pub. Now, however, he was older and a lot more tired. Even with an almost perfectly behaved baby, she was still tiring to look after. John had seen more wrinkles on his face than ever before.   
‘Go on, then. We’ll stay for a bit.’ He announced, receiving a cheer from quite a few police officers at the scene, which shocked both him and Sherlock, who was regarding them with wide eyes.   
‘Fantastic. Let’s get our drink on, boys!’

Twenty minutes later, John and Sherlock were seated around a large beer garden, string lights overhead illuminating everyone’s eyes as they drank like they were in University.   
John was still on his first, along with Sherlock, who had wisely only chosen a beer. It was strange seeing Sherlock drink something so...pedestrian. It made him seem a lot more approachable, as they both found when he began to get engaged in conversation more around the table.  
Greg was the first to raise his glass. ‘So.’ He called everyone quiet. ‘Here’s to another successful case! Great work, everyone! And great work, Sherlock!’   
There was a wave of cheers, mostly calling Sherlock’s name. The man in question froze with his glass halfway in the air, confused.  
‘They’re thanking you, you idiot,’ John muttered at his side.   
‘Why?’ Sherlock whispered back.  
‘Because you did a good job, now smile and drink your beer.’ Sherlock did as he was asked, before turning and whispering something into John’s ear that made his hair curl.   
‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’  
John felt his face turn bright red. ‘I didn’t do much for this case.’  
Sherlock pulled back only enough to look him in the eye. ‘You did. You took care of me like you always do.’ His eyes were sparkling in the lights above. John felt tears well up in his throat.   
‘You big softy.’   
‘Only for you...And Rosie. Obviously.’  
John chuckled. ‘Obviously.’  
When they both leaned in for a quick kiss, the moment was broken by Donovon’s voice.  
‘Hang on. Are you guys together?’  
John broke apart, only then remembering where they were. He looked around, noticing that all of the officers had stopped their conversations and were watching them. Greg was sitting with the brightest grin on his face, whether it was from being happy for them or owing Anderson money, John didn’t know.   
Just then, an arm wrapped around his shoulders.   
‘Donovon, if you carry on making obvious deductions like that, you’ll make detective by next year.’ Sherlock said as casually as he could, taking a sip of his beer.   
There was a smattering of chuckles before the entire squad burst into chaos. Some cheered, but most turned to another officer to demand money (including Greg).  
‘Took you bloody long enough!’  
‘Finally!’  
‘God, I was hoping they’d not realise it for another month…’  
John watched in shock as the excitement died away, and the crowd went back to their conversations. A few people turned to him and Sherlock to ask more. Before he could answer, Sherlock piped up, relaxing into his seat as he told the story of how he and John finally got their asses in gear.  
‘Wait, the night you went for Chinese was the night you got together?’ Greg asked incredulously. ‘And you didn’t bother letting me know this has been going on for a month?’  
John shrugged. ‘It didn’t seem like a big deal, to be perfectly honest.’  
‘It’s a huge deal!’ Greg was on his third rum and coke, and it sloshed out of his glass as he gesticulated. ‘Do you know just how long we’ve known Sherlock was hopelessly in love with you? Huh?’  
John turned to look at Sherlock, who had gone quiet. ‘No?’  
‘Only since the first day you guys met.’   
‘Wrong.’ Sherlock piped up, a hardness to his voice that the others hadn’t heard in a while. ‘...It was the day after.’   
John snorted, leaning over to rest his hand against Sherlock’s thigh, giving it a squeeze. He smiled down at his lap, happy that the others left him alone with the new information.   
Had Sherlock really just admitted to being in love with him for almost 8 years? 8 Years? And now he was raising his daughter alongside him, offering no complaints to the fact John had married someone else, treating Rosie with the patience of a true parent. Come to think of it, it had always been Sherlock for John.  
Who was it that he was so desperate to flaunt his new girlfriends over, only to watch as Sherlock ripped them a new one, causing them to leave? Who was it that he trailed after night after night, instead of sleeping, like any normal man in his thirties would be doing? Who devastated him to the core to see dead, who he had mourned for two years, and who he’d come running back to a month after his supposed ‘love of his life’ died?   
It was all Sherlock. John was a medical man, and didn’t believe in superstitions like soulmates, but, if he did, he would have to agree that he and Sherlock were the closest to it he had seen.   
It was because of this realisation, then, that John cornered Sherlock in the back of the cab on the way home that night, pushing himself into his space and muttering in his ear.   
‘I love you too. Always have.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your support, guys! Should I continue this? What do you think?


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